


To Withstand The Storm

by XxDecipheringGravityFallsxX



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A TON OF STANGST, ALL THE STANGST, Angst, FEELS DESTRUCTION!, Family Angst, Feels, Heavy Angst, I AM THE GOD OF DESTRUCTION!, I am not going to hold back on this one, I warn you, Read at Your Own Risk, Stangst, major feels warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-03 16:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15822282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxDecipheringGravityFallsxX/pseuds/XxDecipheringGravityFallsxX
Summary: In a dilapidated shack Stanford Pines must not only confront demons from his present, but he must also endure haunting memories from the past. Memories that have rooted and settled deep into his subconscious. And the only one who could possibly help him overcome his regrets is far, far away from him.___On this desolate frigid winter day, Stanford Pines would never comprehend the desperate urge that seized him, and in turn caused him to propel open the door in such a frantic course of action. Nor would he ever hope to fathom why he haphazardly bolted out hastily into the vortex of white. Regardless of all the questions that would forevermore harass his thoughts afterwards, there was but one truth that would consume him for weeks to come. If the fates hadn’t been in his favor this day, then his utter failure in regards to the portal would no doubt have been overshadowed by a newfound remorse.___





	1. The Storm

Stanford Pines wasn’t the type to be perplexed, at least not when under paradigmatic circumstances. Be that as it may, the occurrence on this particular eve that will come to pass would bring quite the conundrum for him to dwell.

 

Nothing in the world could have prepared the exhausted and paranoid paranormal researcher for what would happen today. As he paced the floor back and forth, casting his gaze all around his shack that was in much disorganized pandemonium, he clutched a Journal close to his chest. Ford wasn’t usually this amped up, and once upon a time his home was tidy down to the last nook and cranny.  

 

However, if someone else had been subjected to the horrific agony of learning that they have put the entire Universe in peril, like Ford had come to realize- then they too would be within an unsound state of mind. 

 

As he continued to pace back and forth like clockwork, he took notice to the fact that it was quiet, almost to the point that it was terribly unsettling. The only sound was that of the blizzard raging outside, and yet even that brought no respite from Ford’s frazzled mentality. 

 

After pacing for nearly thirty minutes he had come to a frigid halt right in the center of the cluttered shack. There was an agonizing pain blooming in the back of his left shoulder. A pained and breathy hiss escaped Ford as he almost dropped his Journal.

 

He shifted the Journal to his left hand and then brought his right hand around his back to press against his left shoulder.

 

He surmised rationally that he’d injured himself in some mannerism that of which was previously unknown to his knowledge. There wasn’t seemingly any other explanation for this suffering of cryptic origin. 

 

As he stood rooted in place, rubbing furiously at the source of discomfort a blistering burning sensation began to radiate distressingly deeper.

 

What was once pain that was only surface based, had since transcended into the tissue and the muscles of his shoulder. Ford let out a discontented noise that was between a growl and a groan.

 

His eyes became crossed, and a scowl settled onto his face as he dug his nails against his shoulder and into the surface of the Journal cover. His knuckles a snow white due to the stiffness of his grasp.

 

The certainty he had that this was just an injury making itself recognized was now obliterated. Whatever he was experiencing at this moment in time was far beyond what he assumed it to be.

 

The very notion of this being an injury had long since vanished from his mind, now he believed only one thing, or rather being, was responsible for the discomfort. 

 

“Bill Cipher!” He spat, his voice came out strained and laced with vitriol, he cast his gaze around the shack once more as he attempted to catch sight of the demonic triangle's silhouette. “Where in blazes are you concealing yourself? I’ve already deactivated the portal! You’ve no rational motives to dwell within this plane of existence for any further!” 

 

Yet, despite Ford’s inquiry- the disorderly shack was as silent as it had been since he had last encountered Bill in the Mindscape, when he had learned of Bill’s gut-wrenching betrayal.

 

He waited with bated breath and after an elapsed time of approximately fifteen minutes he came to the bewildered conclusion that Bill wasn’t causing his anguish, so then why did he feel as if a bullet had ravaged through him?  

 

As he was pondering his current predicament, he hadn’t quite realized that he was now standing at his front door. The only thing that shattered his frantic thoughts was a faint noise and what a miracle it was that he heard it above the howling zephyr of the blizzard just beyond the wooden threshold.  

 

On this desolate frigid winter day, Stanford Pines would never comprehend the desperate urge that seized him and in turn caused him to propel open the door in such a frantic course of action. Nor would he ever hope to fathom why he haphazardly bolted out hastily into the vortex of white.  

 

Regardless of all the questions that would forevermore harass his thoughts, there was but one truth that would consume him for weeks to come.

 

If the fates hadn’t been in his favor this day then his utter failure in regards to the portal would no doubt have been overshadowed by a newfound remorse.  

 

The Journal fell from his grasp and landed with a dull thud upon the ground, forgotten altogether in a singular moment of realization.  

 

For just outside his door, in a rough estimate of about five feet away, a man that mirrored his very likeness except with only five fingers to each hand- was sprawled out in a sea of white and crimson. 

 

The mirror image of himself lie eerily still, nearly frozen and half buried underneath a blanket of snow.

 

The harrowing scene before him was nothing short of a twisted and demented epigram, alas however much he wished it had been just that- the fact of the matter was that the display before him was reality. 

 

**“STANLEY!”**

 

The name erupted from his lungs, and echoed into the freezing cold around him. The unsteady and shaky sound of his voice was muffled by the fierce winds seconds after it left his vocal cords, so he wasn’t certain if Stanley had heard him or not.  

 

Yet, if he had he didn’t show any indication of it. Ford launched himself forward into a sprint, and was at his twin’s side in roughly under a second.  

 

“Sta-Stanley! Wha-What the…fu-fu…” His words stilled in his throat as he collapsed down onto his knees, the pool of blood that had seeped through the snow was already beginning to congeal.

 

Which meant that Stanley must have been lying out here from anywhere to fifteen minutes at best and possibly thirty minutes at worst. Also, that didn’t even account for how long Stanley had been losing the vital fluid before Ford discovered him. 

 

After the nightmarish events Ford was forced to endure for the past few days, he had almost forgotten he’d sent a letter beckoning Stanley to his home.

 

Whatever imaginings he might have had of this meeting paled in comparison to what was presented before him. Never in his scattered thoughts of how this meeting might have gone down would he have ever believed a scenario like this as being the one that awaited him.

 

For a solid minute Ford was as still as a statue, unable to function. Despite the fact his inner voice was wailing at him to take action. It wasn’t until the icy chill of the flurry finally caused him to shiver violently that he snapped out of his stupor.  

 

He inhaled with a shaky gasp and stared down at Stanley. His eyes became wide and he began shaking uncontrollably. Ten years of being isolated and estranged from each other, and this is the state his brother arrived in?

 

What in the name of the constellations above happened? Ford couldn’t even begin to envision what might have happened to Stan before he arrived in such a wretched condition. All he was aware of is that he was was clueless- and had no idea if Stan was still alive or not.  

 

“St-Stan!” He managed to choke out as he carefully grabbed his injured brother, and turned him over and onto his back.  

 

This action harbored no response from Stanley, not even the slightest shiver of his muscles or any noise like a faint moan to indicate life, there was not anything of the sort. This caused Ford’s heart to skip several beats. His breath caught in his throat and he felt a lump forming within his esophagus. 

 

His vision became obscured with the threat of tears, to which he shook his head furiously. There was no time for lamentation, he had to focus on checking Stanley for any signs of life, no matter how faint they might be.  

 

He silently thanked his foresight of attending those medical courses about five years ago, now he could apply that knowledge and hopefully that knowledge would now be of use to him.

 

 In a snowy gale such as this, curse Ford’s deplorable luck, there was no way he’d be able to call for an ambulance in such frightful weather for it wouldn’t arrive in time.

 

Nonetheless even if an ambulance was able to reach the shack, there was a crucial flaw that made itself clear.  

 

The fact was that the weather had been so unpredictable and unforgiving, that the Gravity Falls General Hospital was forced to close on and off. So, the Hospital might not even be operational in this moment of time.

 

Which meant Stanford Pines had no choice but to save his brother’s life himself. 

 

The first thing that he noticed was Stan’s condition was much more alarming than he had previously anticipated.

 

Previously the only evidence of a wound was the dark red crimson upon Stanley’s left shoulder, now Ford was well aware that there were more wounds that needed tended to. 

 

He took it all in, making sure to make a mental note of every single wound that required the most urgent care. The second probable major wound he could see made his stomach churn.

 

Ford was almost certain, that if his stomach wasn’t already void of any food, he would have staggered away and upchucked due to the sight. There was a knife buried near to the hilt on Stan’s side.

 

There were several possibilities that the blade could have penetrated a major organ, depending on how the blade had been entered. This presented a dilemma that Ford wasn’t certain he was equipped to deal with.

 

He could only shudder and hope beyond hope that somehow Stan had a stroke of luck for once- and that the blade had missed any vital organs. 

 

As he looked over Stan- he began to check him for signs of life. His brother was snow white and icy cold to the touch, and deathly still. This alone caused Ford’s heart to skip several beats as he couldn’t locate a pulse from Stan’s wrists.

 

There were multiple other injuries that littered his twin, most of which were lesser worrisome injuries such as bruises and semi-deep cuts.

 

However, there was yet another alarming injury that Ford uncovered. A flash of red underneath Stan’s beanie caught his attention, Ford pulled it away only to take in another sight that didn’t bode well. 

 

It would appear that someone had slugged his brother with possibly a baseball bat, against the top of his head and his temple.

 

Ford cautiously checked his brother’s cranium and deduced that the wounds weren’t serious enough to be fatal, and it had only seemed that way because head injuries no matter how small tended to bleed a lot. 

 

Ford finally deduced all of his brother’s wounds, and he had checked over all of them except his shoulder wound. Ford still didn’t know if his brother was alive or dead, he wanted to hope that it was the former and not the latter.  

 

He pleaded silently that Stan was still among the living as he inspected his shoulder wound. It was then that his heart almost halted in its beats, as he found the unmistakable dark shape of a bullet embedded into Stan’s shoulder. 

 

**Someone had shot his brother? HIS BROTHER?!**

 

He pulled his hands away and they clutched into fists as his breathing became heavy and drawn out. A scowl settled itself onto his face and for just a moment he saw red, however the moment of red was shattered when he heard the unmistakable noise of a feeble whimper. 

 

A puff of misty air formed over Stan’s parted mouth, and that was all Ford needed to conclude he was indeed alive. Locating a pulse of any sort- or trying to find a heartbeat when a person lost a substantial amount of blood and it was freezing, was difficult. 

 

A shaky sigh escaped from Ford as his training kicked in. Moving Stan was risky, but if he wasn’t moved then he’d perish where he lay. Ford managed to keep his emotions at bay, and focused on getting Stan into the house. Getting Stan warm was of the utmost importance, the likelihood of him freezing to death was still a looming threat. 

 

Ford carefully gathered Stan into his arms, making certain to not disturb the knife in Stanley’s side. He grimaced when Stan made frail noises of protest, and shivered in his hold.

 

He took in a deep inhale, and let it linger in his lungs before he exhaled.  

 

“Don’t worry I’ve got you.” He reassured in a hushed whisper, even if he didn’t know if Stan could hear him, it gave something for Ford to focus on besides the possibility that Stan could still die. 

 

Ford wasted no time patching his brother up after bringing him into the shack. Ford worked with precision and diligence, checking his actions thrice over in his mind before he took them.

 

The toughest wounds to treat had been due to the removal of the bullet from Stan’s shoulder and the removal of the knife from his side. Ford couldn’t remember the last time he had been overwhelmed with so much uncertainty and fear for the worst possible outcome.

 

Yet despite it all either Ford had gained a Guardian Spirit or Stanley had, for the blade of the knife hadn’t been as long as Ford had estimated. He was able to safely remove the knife without any complications. 

 

After hours of working over all his brother’s injuries, he finally finished patching up the last one, another stab wound this time on Stan’s back. Though it wasn’t any deeper than the wound on his side.  

 

Ford set aside the medical supplies that still remained and he stared at his brother lying on the couch in his room. There wasn’t anywhere else he could think to place Stanley as he worked on him. Ford had resigned himself to the fact that he’d be sleeping on his shaggy carpet for the night, that is if he could sleep at all. 

 

At the moment Ford felt nothing but numbness as he gazed at his brother’s unconscious form. He listened to Stan’s frail and weak breathing, and observed the shallow rising and falling of his chest and shoulders.

 

Occasionally Stan’s breathing would hitch and he’d make pained moans and his body would shudder, yet he did not wake. Every time this happened Ford would stiffen and wonder if he’d hear the classic death rattle escape from his twin.

 

After about five minutes of silently observing, Ford was stricken with the recognition that Stan was right outside Death’s Door. Stan’s struggle to stay in the realm of the living was painfully obvious, and Ford flinched at every strained breath his brother took. 

 

It was as if any slight touch could send him over the threshold. Upon this realization Ford’s entire body began to tremble and it wasn’t from the cold.

 

He could feel the tears from earlier begin to roll down his face. He swallowed down a sob and he placed an unsteady hand in one of Stan’s hands, he wasn’t certain which hand he had taken because his tears obscured his vision. 

 

“Don’t you dare die on me, do you hear me you idiot? **Don’t you fucking DARE**.” Ford choked out, in a harsh but pleading tone of voice.  

 

The horrifying thought that Stan could still pass away during the night tormented Ford. 

 

 He didn’t get much sleep this night. 

 

Nor would he get much sleep the next. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read the first chapter of: To Withstand The Storm!
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and if you did then perhaps leave a kudos and maybe even a comment telling me what you thought of the first chapter! 
> 
> Anyways peace and love in the sky and stars above! 
> 
> This is yet another What If Scenario I had.
> 
> What if Stan had gotten into a near fatal fight before he arrived at Ford's and how would this change the course of the story? 
> 
> So yeh here we go. Will Stan be alright? The only way you can find out is to come along with me! Let's see what happens next shall we?~


	2. The Storm Is Within Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stanford Pines is able to reflect and realize his flaws. Good, the bastard is learning! 
> 
> ((Please note I love Ford to the moon and back and the bastard comment shouldn't be taken seriously X'D))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> -  
> -  
> The truth hurts like a son of a bitch and Stanford Pines learns this the hard way.  
> -  
> -  
> -

_“Hehe! W-Wait up!”_

  
_“Yeah? You should keep up!”_

   
_“I- I can keep up—whoa!”_

   
_“Neato!”_

   
_“A mysterious boarded up cave! It might be filled with lost prehistoric lifeforms, or mesoamerican gold!”_

   
_ “Uh, ladies first! Haha!” _

  
_ “Hehehe! Mhnnn ahh ump!” _

  
_ “Haha! Good thing you’ve got your smarts Poindexter! I’ve got the other thing. What was it called? Oh, right- PUNCHING! UH!! Cool— splinters!” _

   
_“Whoa! It’s so creepy in here!”_

   
_“Hey! Don’t worry bro, wherever go we go together! Don’t forget to leave our names so they know who owns the place.”_

  
_“PINES! PINES! PINES! PINES!”_

   
_“Whoa!”_

   
_“A shipwrecked sailboat, possibly haunted by pirate ghosts!”_

  
_“This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen! And I once saw a dead rat floatin’ in a bucket!”_

 

_“Haha! Ew what’s wrong with you?”_

 

  
_“Huh, you know what this thing’s missin’?”_

 

  
_“Flags!”_

 

  
_“Kings of New Jersey! Kings of New Jersey! Kings of New Jersey!”_

 

  
_ “I dub thee, the Stan O’War! AH OWW! What the heck-?” _

 

  
_ “Well, well if it ain’t the loser twins! Nice boat, you get it at the dump? HEYEHEHE!” _

 

  
_ “YOU would know Crampelter! GET LOST!” _

 

  
_ “Listen dorks and listen good! You’re a six fingered FREAK, and- you’re just a dumber an’ sweatier version o’him! And you’re lucky you have each other cause neither of you WILL EVER make any friends! Gyhahah! Dorks an’ losers!” _

 

  
_“Hey… don’t let those idiots get to you.”_

 

  
_“But…I am a freak. I just wonder if there’s anywhere in the world where weirdos like me fit in.”_

 

  
_ “Hey chin up, buddy! Look, one of these days you an me are gonna sail away from this dumb town. We’ll hunt for treasure, get all the girls, and be an unstoppable team of adventures!” _

 

_“You really mean it?”_

 

_“High Six?”_

 

  
_“High Six!”_

-

-

-

-

Stanford jolted awake from his restless sleep and nearly toppled over, causing his heart to startle and thump faster within his chest. His glasses lie crooked against his nose and he adjusted them.

 

It had been such an elongated period of time since he had thought of that day, and he couldn’t imagine why he would be dreaming about—

 

A low raspy breath caught his attention, and the events of the last few hours rushed back to him. Ford realized he must have fallen asleep obviously, but he couldn't recollect when he'd shut his eyes.

 

His chest was propped up against the couch, his face had been buried into the blanket, and his hand had been resting atop Stanley’s hand.

 

Ford’s heart settled and returned to its natural tempo as he gazed at Stanley. His brother’s face remained a disconcerting pale white, and his struggle to receive enough oxygen was unpleasant to watch.

 

Ah, so that’s why...

 

Ford averted his gaze away from his brother and stared at the shaggy carpet underneath him, as if it had suddenly become the most intriguing wonder of the world. He sat there as stiff as a statue, listening to Stan’s feeble breathing.

 

He was attempting to listen for any changes in the rhythm of Stan’s inhalation and exhalation of oxygen.

 

Time marched on and when fifteen minutes had passed by, he came to the conclusion Stan’s breathing was as steady as it was going to be without any additional aid from medical equipment.

 

The entire situation was hypnagogic, it was as if this were all just some elaborate delusion conjured up by his frayed and distraught psyche.

 

As though he could remove his hand from atop Stanley’s hand, and he’d vanish as if he’d never been. Deciding to test his theory he timidly pulled his hand away, and immediately regretted doing so.

 

For the instant he had retracted his hand, a dejected whimper escaped from Stan’s parted jaw. 

 

The sound was comparable to that of a terror stricken child, that had gone astray from their mother. Ford hastily reclaimed his brother’s hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

 

 

“He-Hey it’s…it’s okay…it’s…okay…” He murmured in a soothing manner. Not once had it dawned on him that Stanley might be overwhelmed with trepidation, despite being unconscious.

 

 

Ford let out an annoyed groan, and ruffled the hair on the back of his head with his other hand. How simple-minded was it that he didn’t even consider the probability that Stan was no doubt bewildered.

 

“Stanford Filbrick Pines you foolish simpleton, of course Stanley is terrified. He isn’t aware that he’s safe and secure.” Ford grumbled tersely to himself as he shook his head in disapproval of his own naivety.

 

 

“It’s alright Stanley, you’re safe I promise.” Ford mumbled as he moved his hand away from his head, so he could adjust the blanket. The blanket had been displaced when he’d startled awake.

 

He pulled it up to just underneath Stan’s chin, hoping that it would recapture any lost warmth his brother might have lost in the past few minutes.

 

For the first time in his entire life, Ford felt awkward around his twin. Yet, who could blame him for feeling this way?

 

It had been ten long years since they had seen one another, and this situation they were both currently living was one Ford wouldn’t ever surmise themselves being in.

 

Truthfully, Ford was at an utter loss and wasn’t certain how to feel about the entire situation. 

 

It wasn’t as though he didn’t care, it was just the fact that it had been such such a long time and he couldn’t pinpoint what feelings he harbored for his brother.

 

  
Was he still cross at Stanley for ruining his project, and costing him his dream school? Or had he perhaps moved on from what happened between them?

 

To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t given that old wound much thought ever since he had moved to Gravity Falls.

 

Stanley ruining his project had faded into the darkest reaches of his mind. At this point in time he couldn’t say without a doubt if he was in fact still vexed.

 

After all, Stanley’s betrayal of Ford’s trust had caused him much distress. Never in their entire lives did Ford expect Stan would destroy something he’d worked tirelessly on.

 

Stan had always been nothing but supportive and always had his back. He just didn’t understand why Stanley ruined his project.

 

As he watched over Stanley and let his thoughts flow, he pried deeply into the event that caused them to drift away and become cold and distant towards each other.

 

Then out of the blue Stan’s words that day rang out clearly, and Ford's perception of the event began to unravel and present itself in a new light. 

 

-

-

-

-

_ “O-Okay I might have been accidentally horsing around-“ _

 

_“This was NO accident Stan! You did this! You did this because you couldn’t handle me going to college on my own!”_

 

_“Look, it was a mistake! Although if you think about it, maybe there’s a silver lining? Ah, treasure hunting?”_

 

_“Are you KIDDING me? Why would I want to do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire FUTURE!”_

 

_“YOU DID WHAT, YOU KNUCKLEHEAD?”_

 

_“Stanley…? What’s going on in here?”_

 

_“Wai-Wait no! I can explain---! It was a mistake!”_

 

_“You IGNORAMUS, your brother was gonna be our ticket outta this dump! All you ever do is lie and cheat and ride on your brother’s coat tails! Well THIS time you’ve caused OUR family potential MILLIONS! And until YOU can make us a fortune you’re NOT welcome in this household!”_

 

_“Wha-What? Sta-Stanford… tell him he’s being crazy! St-Stanford? Do-don’t…leave me hangin’... high six? FINE! I can make it on my OWN! I don’t need YOU! I don’t need ANYONE! I’ll make MILLIONS and you’ll RUE the day you turned your BACK on me!”_

 

-

-

-

-

Ford felt as if a knife had been plunged deep into his chest, and some cruel bastard was twisting the handle.

 

He dwelled on that memory and let it replay like a record, and after going over it several times he felt a sinking feeling of shame settle in the pit of his stomach.

 

It wasn’t until now that he had some time to reflect on the heated event that he realized the ugly truth. In that point of time all Ford focused on was the agonizing feeling of betrayal.

 

All he felt was his own anguish, and he never saw past that. He never even considered Stanley and how he was feeling.

 

But now, as he replayed the event that caused their drift over and over he could finally hear Stan’s remorse, his shock and sorrow and then anger when he was left on the streets without a friend in the entire world.

 

Ford took in a deep breath and exhaled shakily. Had it been all just a terrible mistake? Had Stan been honest? But then why try to conceal it?

 

Why try to act as though he hadn’t broken it, and only fessed up when he was caught? Why hadn’t Stanley told him what happened?

 

What in the world had the Knucklehead been thinking? The conflicting thoughts began to take the form of a headache, Ford groaned and rubbed his free hand against one of his temples.

 

“Stanley… why didn’t you say anything? Why did you conceal it? What were you thinking you Knucklehead? I don’t…”

 

Ford sucked in a sharp breath as he stared at his brother’s pale face. “Damn it all Stan! I don’t know what to believe! I want to believe you, but…” He trailed off and tightly closed his eyes, shuddering with these fresh waves of insecurity.

 

Ten years ago Ford had all but been without a doubt that Stan had stabbed him in the back in bitter betrayal but now… now his certainty was wavering.

 

He opened his eyes and studied Stan’s pained face, and it was in this moment Ford desperately wished he’d we up. He wanted to hear it from Stanley…no he NEEDED TO hear it from him.

 

If it had all just been one grievous mistake, then this feeling of doubt would vanish and he could finally move on from what happened.

 

He could abandon that feeling of bitterness, he’d finally know the truth if Stan had meant to betray him.

 

If Stan had told the truth that night ten years ago, then the broken trust between them could be resolved.

 

He felt sickened, why had it taken until Stan was on Death’s Door for Ford to reflect upon the events that led them to drift apart? Why in blazes hadn’t he considered that it had been an accident, and that Stan was telling him the truth?

 

Sure, Stanley wasn’t well known for being the most honest person in the world, but if there was one thing Ford could always count on is that Stan had his back through thick and thin.

 

“Listen to me, listen to me asking what you were thinking. How ridiculous is that, Stanley? What were you thinking? What was I THINKING? Dad had the nerve to call you an ignoramus, but take a gander at me. What an imbecile I was to assume that you’d deliberately be as malicious as to ruin my project. You always had my back, and you never treated me any differently. You never thought of me as a freak, I was just only ever your brother and your best friend…and...” Ford’s words devolved into a mix of a choked up dry sob and exasperated laughter.

 

He buried his face against the couch cushion, attempting to regain dominion over his frazzled emotional state of being. Yet despite it all, he found his efforts to be in vain, he was unable to regain control. He finally succumbed to the despondency that had been looming over him like a dark cloud.

 

The storm outside was no longer of any concern to him. The storm within himself was threatening to overtake him. His entire body seized with tremors, and his breathing became unsteady.

 

His lips began to tingle, and his heart began fluttering frantically against his ribcage. All of which were symptoms of a panic attack, Ford hadn’t suffered through a panic attack in years. So to be stricken with one without any warning left him paralyzed, and at the mercy of his hysteria.

 

  
“You were my brother and my only friend and I-“

 

Try as he might he was incapable of speaking his mind. This forced him to endure his panic attack in the dreadful silence that he was coming to loathe. In spite of Stanley being right here in front of him, Ford had never felt more isolated.

 

 

Stanley might be right here beside him, but to Ford it was as if his twin was a Galaxy away. And he’d give anything in the world, if only for Stanley to wake up and say something really fucking stupid. He didn’t give a damn what it was, he just needed to hear his brother’s voice.

 

Throughout his entire crippling sensation of distress, he tightly clutched his hand against Stan’s hand. Grasping it as though it were his very lifeline, though he had his suspicion that it was the other way around. He had no doubt in his mind that his presence was Stanley’s lifeline.

 

So, whom was saving who in this instance? Ford couldn’t outright decide one way or another. There was only one thing for certain, Ford felt like a terrified child again and despite being older than Stan, he wished Stan would wake up and pretend for just a few minutes he was the big brother.

 

**Selfish…**

 

That’s all Ford was. A selfish brother, whom had forgotten how to appreciate what he had, and now he could very well lose Stanley. What right did he have to be making any wishes for himself?

 

How dare he even think about his wants and needs now. For fuck’s sake, Stanley was currently on his might be death bed, and yet here Ford was dwelling on his own emotions once again.

 

He was pathetic… a pathetic and sad fool.

 

And Ford didn’t even bother to deflect these harsh thoughts, for they were nothing but the icy stone cold truth and he damn well knew it.

 

Stanley never once asked for anything more than to sail around the world on the Stan O’ War together. Everything else Stan ever did was selflessly fall into the role of being Ford’s protector, brother, and best friend all rolled into one.

 

Stan would have given up everything for Ford and if Stan had ruined his project on accident, then Ford knew Stan would have even given up sailing around the world with him if it meant he was happy… and Ford had been blind to it.

 

He didn’t deserve Stanley, and he wouldn’t blame his brother if he surrendered the fight and passed on. Why… why did Stanley care about him so much? Why had he protected him and give up so many things for his sake?

 

 

What made Stanley think Ford was so special?

 

Ford couldn’t fathom why and he might not ever learn why, because Stanley could die and it would be his fault. Despite all the emotions bearing down on him, and it was probably nothing short of a miracle, Ford was unable to shed even a single tear. The tears just wouldn’t come and his anguish remained imprisoned in a prison of his own creation.

 

Where he was both the prisoner and the warden.

 

The clock read three A.M.

 

Ford felt himself sink lower and he felt as if he was drowning… suffocating. He didn’t want to leave Stanley alone for even a moment, but he had to attempt to phone up the hospital. Even though he had no doubt it was still closed due to the horrific weather.

 

Ford gave Stan’s hand another gentle squeeze, and when his panic subsided he left Stanley’s side and made his way to his phone.

 

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Ring…  
Ring...  
Ring…  
Ring…

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Silence…

 

Crushing, dark and all-consuming. A vast void of helplessness stretched before him.

 

Ford let his exhaustion take hold of him as he stumbled back to Stanley’s side. He took Stan’s hand in his, and rested his head against the couch.

 

“Please Stanley…. Please be here the next time I wake up…”

 

And for just a fleeting moment, before slumber claimed him, he swore that he felt Stan’s fingers curl around his hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I banned from the Gravity Falls Fandom Yet X'D?
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for reading the next Installment of To Withstand The Storm. I do so hope you're eager for the next chapter! Will Stan live or will he die?
> 
>  
> 
> Only one way to know and that's to keep reading and for me not to be a lazy heck and procrastinate. Anyways if you loved this chapter then perhaps leave me a comment with your thoughts! You don't have to of course, it just helps me stay motivated hehe~
> 
> Anyways peace and love in the sky and the stars above.
> 
> Let's see where this What If Scenario takes us, shall we?~


	3. The Grim Reaper Comes A'Knocking On The Jaded Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stanford doesn't know how to handle his feelings.
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> ATTEMPTED SUICIDE IS DEPICTED IN THIS CHAPTER!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> SURPRISE THE NEXT CHAPTER IS HERE!
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> Funny isn't it, how the possibility of losing someone can make you question everything that ever happened between the two of you.  
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Ford’s dormancy didn’t last long, and his eyelids fluttered open in the dim room, that was only illuminated by the silver radiance of the moon. 

 

The sound of a low groan had pulled him from the anchor of slumber. With a soft grunt he pushed himself up and shifted away from the couch, his gaze landing on his wounded twin, whom was stirring in a slightly distressed manner as though he was having a nightmare of sorts. 

  
  
Ford’s lungs expanded and then deflated as he expelled a low sigh, Ford moved his hand away from Stan’s hand and he had it come to a rest atop Stan’s cheek in an effort to soothe his twin.

 

The gesture seemed to comfort Stanley as he thankfully quieted down, and his restlessness ceased. 

  
  
Stanley was still here, among the realm of the living.

 

“Thank you.” Ford murmured in relief, the faintest of smiles settled itself onto his face.  

Stan’s physical state remained relatively unchanged.

 

Even if there was no noticeable improvement to his condition there wasn’t any sign of it worsening either. His gaze left Stanley and landed on the clock, and it was only four in the morning.

 

He’d only slept for an hour;  however, he had never felt more overtaken by sheer relief. In a bizarre way, Stan’s unchanged state of being comforted and silenced much of Ford’s unease.

 

Stan had made it thus far, even without the medical assistance he no doubt likely required.  

 

As long as Stanley remained stable, Ford wouldn’t have to worry himself ill over what he would do if the Hospital didn’t open.

 

Or if the blizzard outside didn’t quell enough to let him take Stan to another Hospital.

 

There was no conceivable way that Ford would be able to safely transfer his brother to another Hospital out of town, not in such horrendous and perilous weather. 

  
  
“Stanley, what happened to you?” Ford mumbled. Even though he knew his twin was incapable of answering the inquiry, he felt the urge to talk. 

 

He had once come across an intriguing medical fact, it revealed the possibility that even though a person might be in a comatose like state, they were still able to hear the voices of their loved ones. 

 

Though, Ford had doubted the very notion years earlier, he began to hope that the possibility was indeed true. If Stanley were awake at this very moment, then it would be an arduous and challenging task to even speak with him. Speaking to him in this manner would allow Ford to speak without the awkwardness between the two of them. 

  
However, he’d be lying to himself if he wasn’t yearning for Stanley to awaken. 

 

He’d rather much be certain that Stanley could hear his words, rather than rely on just wishful thinking and blind hope. 

 

Even if it would have been a toilsome effort to even speak with Stanley, it would be more preferable than just sitting in sullenness and listening to his labored breaths. 

  
  
“You... you’re such a damn Knucklehead, you know that?"  Ford huffed out, feeling a spark of anger flare up within him, but quickly fizzle out as soon as it ignited. He bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

 

"What reason could you possibly have to neglect yourself like this? Why didn’t you go to the Hospital? What were you thinking...? Damn it, you’re as reckless as ever and it’s probably worsened tenfold since I’ve last seen you.” 

  
  
Why? Why hadn’t Stanley taken care of himself?  Why didn’t he taken himself to the Hospital, it objectively lacked any form of logical insight whatsoever unless...?  Ford felt his heart tightened and for a moment he felt as though he was suffocating on the air around him. 

 

“Unless you wanted to...” His free hand flew up to his chest, and he grasped at the wrinkled fabric.

 

"Unless you wanted to...” He could taste the tang of copper upon his taste buds, the result of his upper teeth sinking too far against his lower lip. 

 

  
  
**“Unless you wanted to die...”**

 

  
The strained and despondent words finally managed to take form, his bleak epiphany caused him to shudder. What other explanation could there be, nothing else besides what he had concluded would make sense. Stanley had been seeking out the Grim Reaper, and if not for Stanford discovering him, surely Stan would have come face to face with the gruesome being.  

 

“No that...that can’t... you weren’t really...?” Despite the truth glaring him straight in the face, Ford had no desire to believe death was what Stanley had longed for. He refused to accept it, and he wouldn’t accept it, he couldn’t accept it! 

 

Why would he ever accept such a morbid probability? Despite the fact that he didn’t know much about Stanley now- and what he’d endured for the past ten years, there was a heckling thought in the back of Ford’s mind.

 

If there was one thing Stanley Pines was, it was a fighter. He wasn’t a quitter in any sense of the word, in fact Stanley was so stubborn that when he set his sights on a goal there was no way to talk him out of what he desired to accomplish.

 

Ford was more aware of that than anyone, for he had lived through most of Stanley’s harebrained schemes. Going by that route of contemplation, it should rule out even the slightest impression that Stanley had been actively seeking out death. 

  
  
“No...no of course not, that’s ludicrous, that’s not you... I know...I know you...  you’d never... you wouldn’t...  I mean, how could you?  You’re not a quitter, you’d never think about that... ” 

  
As he droned on and on, trying to reassure himself more than anything else, his awareness from the present faded. 

 

His sense of being within this time was uprooted, as he was cast away into a memory that had been suppressed for over a decade now.

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_“ St-Stanley...what were you...doing?”_

  
  
_A fifteen and half year-old Stanley turned towards his twin, a dismal look upon his face. Right behind him, a wooden stool sat underneath the shadow of a crudely made noose._

 

 _The noose swayed ominously back and forth, as though Stanley had just finished setting it up._ _Stanley let out a hefty sigh, he gazed into Stanford’s disturbed expression._

 

 _"_ H _ere I thought you were the smart one,_ _I think yah already know the answer, don’t you...?” He muttered, seemingly without a care in the entire world that what he was about to do would extinguish his existence.  _

   
  
_“WHAT?!” Ford glared at his twin, his eyes wide, his brows furrowed and his entire body as stiff as a statue. “BUT WHY? WHY WOULD YOU---? ”  _

  
  
_“It ain’t like anyone would even care.” _ _Stanley replied_ _numbly, as he crossed his arms and averted his gaze._

  
  
_Ford clenched his jaws and his hands balled into fists._ _He lurched forward and knocked Stan in the cheek with a lackluster punch, even if it wasn’t that strong it would no doubt knock some sense into his brother at least._

  
  
_Stanley flinched, even though the punch had been shoddily executed, it did sting ever so slightly._

 

 _"_ A _H! OW! WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT FOR?!" He grunted, pressing his hand against his cheek.   _

  
_Ford stood there, taking in rapid and uneven breaths, his gaze downcast as he struggled to catch his breath_

 

_The onslaught of a full-blown panic attack was creeping upon him._

 

_Though he had to keep it at bay to keep his brother from doing something so foolhardy._

 

_"Really? What do you think it was for!?  You tried to kill yourself, Stanley! You tried to kill yourself! ”  _

  
  
_He placed a hand up to his chest and gazed at his brother, noting the confusion upon his face._ _“And you think I wouldn’t CARE?!” Ford tensed up as he finally recovered from being winded._

 

 _“Stanley you.. you..."_ _He  choked down a sob that was threatening to liberate itself from his vocals. _

 

_" YOU SON OF A---” He rushed forward without warning, however despite this, Stanley seemed prepared for his charge.  _

  
  
_Stanley grabbed a hold of him, and managed to subdue him without any effort required on his part._

 

_"Why’d you go an’ punch me for an’ then why did ya try to rush me?!  What the HECK is wrong with you?! ”_

   
  
_Ford struggled in Stan’s hold, trying to free himself from his grip with no avail._

 

_With his arms pressed against his back, being held in place by Stanley, there wasn’t much he could do other than to surrender._

 

_"What the HECK is wrong with me?  I could be asking you the same question, you imbecile!"_

  
  
_Ford felt Stan release him, and then he teetered forward, as Stanley pushed him away._ _He whirled around to face his twin, ready to lecture him on how asinine he was being, but he never had the chance to speak._

 

_“Yeah, yeah!”  Stanley spat out his hands curled into fists as he glared, his eyes shimmered with bitterness and anguish._

 

_"You are right on the money there, ain’t yah Sixer?! I am a fucking idiot, ain’t I?  I’m the fucking loser, like Pa says, right? I ain’t ever gonna amount to anything right?Face it Stanford, I’m jus’ a mistake, I ain’t special. I'm not  smart like you are, I’m just useless! You’d be better off without me dragging you down!"_

   
  
_Stan finished, taking in a drawn-out breath. It was then that he noticed Ford was gazing dismally at the floor, and that tears were streaming down his cheeks._

 

 _It was a stupid question, yet_ _he asked it anyways. "_ _Are... are you...crying? ”  _

   
  
_“What do you think? Of course, I’m CRYING Stanley! ” Ford snapped out, though it wasn’t in anger._ _It was more of a mix of fear and dejectedness._

 

 _“Why wouldn’t I be crying!?  I...  you were going to....” He took in a sharp breath, “I was about to lose YOU, Stanley!  My only brother and best friend that I have in this entire world! I can’t imagine what... what would have... happened if you... if... I didn’t stop.... ”  _ _He removed his tear stained glasses from his face and discarded them on the clothes dresser beside him._

 

 _He hid his face in his hands, rubbing vigorously as he tried to wipe away all of his tears._ _“If you... if you---! ” A choked-up sob forced itself out of his vocals, as he was unable to restrain it any longer.  _

  
  
_Stanley blinked as tears pricked the corner of his eyes, and he pressed the side of his hand up against his eyes and wiped away his own tears as they fell._ _Unlike Stanford, he didn’t let out any noise of grief, he cried in silence._

   
  
_“Ley... maybe, maybe you won’t believe me... but, I do care. I care more than you know, and you’re not useless and I wouldn’t be better off without you! You’re not a mistake, you’re my twin and you’re a great friend and even better brother. You aren’t worthless... if I ever somehow made you feel that way, then I’m sorry." _ _Ford walked over to his distraught twin, who said nary a word, and just stared tearfully at him. He embraced Stanley in a protective hug._

 

 _“I need you, Ley.”  He rested his chin against his brother’s shoulder, pleading for him to abandon his suicide attempt._ _“Please don’t do it; I can’t lose you... I just can’t... I don’t want to... I don’t want to grow up without my twin and my best friend. ”_

 

  
_Stan slowly wrapped his arms around Ford._ _He buried his face against Ford’s shoulder. "I’m... I’m sorry..” He whimpered lowly, with a soft sniffle.  _

 

  
_“I know.” Ford murmured as he tightened his grip on Stanley, as if the moment he let him go he’d lose him... forever._

 

 _He couldn’t ever let that happen. He  WOULDN’T ever let it happen, he needed Stan with him._   _He couldn’t imagine growing up without his twin, and he didn’t want to ever know what it would be like if Stanley wasn’t with him through thick and thin._

 

_Wherever they go, they go together and that’s how it was always going to be... **right?** _

 

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**His cheeks were damp.**

   
  
The recollection of the suppressed memory fractured like glass as Ford regained his sense of the present. 

 

The first thing he noticed through his slightly blurred vision were the barely visible tears that had splattered against Stan’s pale face. 

   
  
**His tears.**

  
  
Ford wiped away his silent tears on his sleeve and slumped forward, resting his head against Stan’s shoulder. 

 

The memory planted a seed of doubt in his mind; the entire recollection of the nearly forgotten memory had left him feeling numb and lost.

 

Stanley had attempted it once, who is to say he hadn’t attempted suicide again, only this time around he had attempted to do so by bleeding out in the snow?

 

Ford’s former sense of denial was in shambles. 

 

If Stanley had almost quit once before, then what was to prohibit him from trying once again all these years later?The answer...? Nothing...nothing was keeping Stanley from his own self-destruction. 

 

  
**Stanley had wanted to die.**

 

  
“You might kill me when you wake up... for not letting you die. However, you know what Stanley? I don’t give a damn! I told you once, and I’ll tell you a thousand times if I must, that I can’t lose you and I meant that. So, damn it all, you better pull through this you Knucklehead! Or so help me---!"

 

Ford took in a deep breath, held it in his lungs for a few moments and then exhaled in a shaky sigh. "Or so help me I’ll do anything to bring you back...”   
  
  
Ford knew that what he was saying was impossible. Once deceased you were deceased, and there was no recovery from the maw of death.

 

Yet... he had to say something to keep himself from falling apart as if he were constructed of porcelain. For the first time in his entire life, Stanford Pines had never felt this fragile and this vulnerable.

 

Not even Fiddleford leaving had made him this unsettled, nor even the betrayal of Bill could have caused him to sink into such suffering.  

  
But put his brother before him- broken, battered and on the verge of death and you had yourself a nerd in shambles.  

  
  
There was nothing quite like The Grim Raper to come knocking, to finally wallop some sense into the infuriatingly dense brain that belonged to Stanford Pines.

 

Another haunting thought crossed his mind. Stanley could have died at any time long before now, and Ford would have never been none the wiser. He would have gone his entire life without ever knowing what happened to Stanley. He groaned at his own foolish, how could he have been so blind? 

 

How could he have ever forgotten about Stanley? Had he honestly been so enchanted with anomalies that he’d left behind his brother and best friend?

 

Yes… yeshe had… and now Stanley might leave him behind, but this time in a more permanent finality.

 

Ford could have tracked Stan down at any moment in time in the past ten years, yet he hadn’t done so…and what’s worse is that he called Stanley to take the Journal away.

 

He hadn’t called him up to check in on him, or even invite him to try and fix the shattered bonds between the two of them.

 

His reasoning for calling up Stanley was downright underhanded and cruel, there was no sugarcoating the truth of the matter. He had called his brother to use him to justify the ends to a means.

 

How inhuman it was for him to only call up his brother when it served him, he was in no position to be begging his brother to deal with his own mistakes. He never should have roped Stanley into this.

 

 

  
  
**How disgusting.**

 

  
  
What a plight they’d both plundered into, how’d they ever let this unresolved issue prolong this far?

 

Why hadn’t either of them reached out and tried to--...Oh…  

 

  
  
**OH…**

  
  
  
Ford lurched upwards as he gazed down at his twin, his heart feeling as though it would break into thousands of pieces. 

 

"The phone calls… all those times I picked up… and there was silence… that was you… wasn’t it? ” Ford didn’t even need to hear confirmation; he was already aware of what the answer would be.

 

He finally solved the mystery of whom had been calling him on and off for the past ten years.  

 

Days prior he had been under the impression that the activity of the phone calls had been of paranormal in nature, considering where he lived it was the most probable case.

 

He never would have even thought that it was his brother calling him in an attempt to make contact with him.  

   
  
“I’m beginning to consider that I’m not as astute as I’d like to believe.” Ford muttered lowly with resignation. 

 

Even while comatose; Stanley Pines was causing Ford such turmoil though of no fault of his own.   


  
His twin really was one of a kind… 

   
  
Ford chuckled feebly and slumped back down, and rested his head against Stan’s shoulder once more. 

 

“Look at us… we’re a mess… looks like I still need you… and despite what you said back then about how you didn’t need me…that was a lie wasn’t it? How… how are we ever going to fix this, Ley?” 

  
  
Only the sound of silence answered, and the call of slumber beckoned his exhausted physical and mental state of being. 

   
  
The Shack fell into silence, save for the soft breathing of the twins at rest.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> There isn't much I have to say, other than I hope you enjoyed this chapter~  
> I'm excited to hear what you think of it~
> 
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> Oh one last thing, Stanley's suicide attempt scene was inspired by this:
> 
> http://kerolunaticat.tumblr.com/post/128930474228/bonus-sorry-if-you-find-any-mistakes
> 
>  
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> I hope you don't mind it ^__^'


	4. Hope Is Such a Fickle Emotion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ford's hope gains wings, only for them to be clipped, and for hope to crash and burn.  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize that this chapter is shorter and not as grand as the three chapters before it. I haven't been feeling well and so my writing is suffering because of it. Also this chapter was doomed to be short from the start, because Stan is in such poor condition that he wouldn't be able to stay conscious for long. I also wanted to give you guys some small bro fluff interactions before things went from bad to worse.  
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 A _vast sea of darkness stretched before him, a sea that harbored nothing but sorrows and broken dreams. The sea had changed drastically over the course of a decade._ _So,_ _had the beach that he currently stood upon. The sand that had once been so warm, and inviting was now damp and cool underneath his feet._   

 _The horizon was perpetually locked within a stalemate between light and dark. The tide ebbed and flowed, rushing over his feet. The water had lost the comfortable warmth it possessed_  once  _upon a time._

 _All it was now, was ice cold and uninviting, something to be avoided at all costs._   _The swing-set on which he and his brother used to play was dilapidated and falling apart. One of them had already broken, and slumped over pathetically hanging on by one chain._   

 _The pier at the end of the beach was in splinters and falling apart, several planks were either missing, or floating aimlessly in the water as if they were lost souls._   

 _Then... there was the Stan O’ War..._   

 _The poor boat was in utter shambles, falling apart at the seams...just like himself._   _The young child stared at the dismal sight before him, he stifled a sob and hugged himself. He slowly slumped down into a sit and curled up, hiding his face against his knees._  

 _He rocked back and forth, as he began to let his tears flow, he felt the sensation of rain begin to splatter against him._   _He lifted his head ever so slightly to watch the rain fall, the sea before him began to churn and the waves grew higher and higher. He watched the upset sea and watched as the Stan O' War trembled and heard the wooden hull creak in violent protest._   

 _He flinched harshly when a sickening and tormenting snap echoed across the beach. He gazed pitifully on as another piece of the_ _Stan_   _O_ _’ War broke off and became spirited away by the stormy sea._   _He was unable to keep his sobs at bay. The small child was lost...he was all alone and everything hurt. There was nothing within him that didn't ache._   

 _But no ache could compare to the one within his chest. It was nothing short of tormenting, his very heart and soul felt as though they were lit a blaze and as if they had also been dipped_ _into_ _subzero temperatures. Fire and ice encased both and it was unrelenting._   

 _There was no mercy to be found, for how could respite be located when the anguish came from deep inside him? As the child grieved the tide gained frightening momentum and began its torrential onslaught towards the child._  

He _took notice of this, and his eyes widened. His face paled and he stiffened up, freezing like a terrified animal on the road. The waves ascended higher and higher into the air, until they towered menacingly over the puny child._   

 _Thunder boomed above and it caused the entire surrounding area to tremble, the child was jostled and sent falling backwards. Lying upon his back he stared up at the waves_ _that continued to swell._  

 _Lightning lit up the sky and caused the waves to cast somber shadows across the beach, the shadows and the gargantuan waves silently threatening to swallow him whole._   _As the waves lurched_ _forward,_ _he let out a wail--_   

_A voice reached him through it all. And suddenly everything came to a frigid halt. The waves had frozen over with ice- and instead of rain, thunder, and lighting plaguing the sky it was a soft fluttering of snow that now descended upon the beach._

_The voice called again, and the terror that once gripped the young boy like a vice began to release its hold upon him._   

 _"I..ay.._ _ey_ _..._ _ust_ _...a..._ _ight_ _...are..."_   

 _The little boy strained his ears, trying to figure out what the voice was saying. As he focused on the_ _voice,_ _he began to understand the words until they were as clear as the ocean blue; that the frozen water before him once was so many years ago._   

 _"It's okay Ley, it's just a nightmare."_   

 _Ley…? Hell, he hadn’t been called that in nearly a decade or by anyone but…wait…? Could it…was it really?_   _No,_   _it couldn’t be…but there was no mistaking that hushed baritone._   

 _“I can assure you that you’re alright,_ _Ley.”_  

  

 _The_   _hell...?_  

  

 _Stanford…?_   

-  

-  

-  

-  

-  

“St-Sta-Stanford?”   

Ford nearly jolted at the sound of Stanley’s frail and almost inaudible voice, but he used all his willpower to remain seated on the rest couch. 

He focused his gaze on his brother’s pale face, the flickering embers of hope spread through him.

He hoped beyond hope that he hadn’t been mistaken when he heard Stanley speak his name. “St-Stanley?” He timidly muttered, his heart pounding within his rib-cage as he waited in horrible silence. 

Stanley had been having a night terror, and thus this what had prompted Ford to carefully and gently to settle the upper half of Stanley upon his lap. Ford reached out and softly pressed the palm of his hand against Stan’s cheek. “Ley…?”   

The flickering embers of hope began to ebb and fade, a lump formed in his throat and his mouth felt dryer than beach sand on the most scorching day of the year. Had he perhaps only imagined his brother speaking to him?

Was the voice nothing more than an auditory hallucination conjured up by his desperate desire to hear his brother’s voice once more? 

A low groan shattered Ford’s frantic and frazzled thought. He tensed up as he observed Stanley’s eyelids twitch, then his jaw once slack to go taut, and then to top it all off a crease formed on his twin’s forehead as if he were concentrating on doing something rather arduous in nature. Then…  

 

Finally, Stanley’s eyes fluttered open ever so slightly.  

 

Their gazes met and Ford felt a rush of warmth, it took him only a few moments to identify what he was feeling- genuine joy. He stared down at Stan a gentle smile had settled itself onto his expression. 

He struggled with finding his voice, he harbored within him a desire to speak. He had a plethora of words he wanted to say, but he was just so overcome with emotion that he was at a loss of what to say first and foremost.  

“Poindexter…?” Stan mumbled out, staring up at Ford, giving him a perplexed stare. He seemed oblivious to his current situation, as if he couldn’t recall how he ended up here. He furrowed his brows and let out a low groan and clenched his jaw. 

“Ah…Oh…everything hurts…” He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, what the hell? The last thing he remembered was receiving a postcard from Ford and then…it was all blank from there.

He had no idea how he arrived at Ford’s place, or why his entire body felt as if he'd been in a street rumble. He managed to slightly open an eye to stare up at Ford quizzically. “Did we…fi-fight?”   

Ford blinked rapidly in surprise, but soon the surprise melted away and was replaced with amusement. He couldn’t help the pitiful choked up laugh, that was mixed with a feeble sob, from escaping his vocals.

Looks like his wish had come to fruition, Stanley had woken up and said something nonsensical. His vision became obscured as his eyes welled up with unshed tears. 

He shook his head in reply to Stan’s question, half of Ford was flooded with relief the other half of was flooded with fear. Fear that this was all just a dream and that Stan wasn’t awake and communicating with him.  

“No.” Ford stated firmly, yet there was a gentleness lingering behind the word. He took in a deep breath and exhaled shakily. He leaned down and hesitantly wrapped his arms around Stan and held him close. “Thank God…” He whispered with a soft whimper sounding off in the back of his throat.   

Stanley stiffened as Ford embraced him in a protective manner. If he wasn’t lost as hell before he was sure lost as hell now. Out of everything he had been expecting, he hadn’t expected this. 

If anything, he had been expecting them to have another major fight which ended up with them parting ways once more. He had never imagined he’d wake up to Ford shedding tears on his behalf, and hugging him as if he’d vanish at any moment. 

It took Stan a minute to register that he wasn’t actually dreaming, and that this was reality. After ten prolonged years of silent bitterness they were finally face to face. Shock coursed through Stan, never had he imagined Ford crying and holding him tightly for their reunion.

He didn’t know what to say or do, what could he say or do? After a few minutes ticked by Stan finally managed to regain control over himself. He timidly and feebly returned the hug and buried his face against Ford’s shoulder.

Despite the fact his entire body was ablaze with agony and the shortness of his breath, Stanley couldn’t be more overtaken by elation.

He felt his cheeks become warm and wet with tears, tears that he’d kept imprisoned for a decade. He trembled lightly in Ford’s protective hold, he attempted to inhale deeply, but to his annoyance his breathing hitched and he let out a few strained muffled coughs. 

Exhaustion suddenly took hold of him, it was unrelenting and unforgiving. Alarm crawled up his spine, he couldn’t recall ever being this fatigued and fragile before. 

Something was wrong… he could feel it in the form of a dull burning sensation that had nestled itself within his lungs, the fluttering of palpitations inside of his chest, and the ice cold that chased away the comfort and warmth of Ford’s embrace.  “Ford…m’tired…” He managed to speak between a bout of feeble coughs.  

Ford gingerly settled Stan back down on his lap, a frown stretching itself across his face. He placed his hand against Stan’s forehead and scowled as he said some choice words underneath his breath.

“You’re feverish…” He informed in a rather fretful tone of voice, as if the very revelation of this fact spelled disaster. Stan let out a low groan in reply, the groan was followed by more strained coughs. 

He shuddered and shifted uncomfortably in Ford’s lap. He had turned towards Ford’s torso and buried his face against the fabric of his shirt. He felt Ford softly place his hand atop his cheek and begin to lightly brush circles against it with his thumb.  

“Rest.” Ford instructed, though he tried to sound steady with his command, uneasiness and worry as clear as the ocean blue seeped through.

As composed as he appeared to be, in truth he was seized with deep rooted worry. A fever meant an infection and from the sound of it, the infection appeared to be attacking Stan’s lungs.

A tirade of possibilities, of what Stan could be inflicted with, presented themselves to Ford. However, the most prominent possibility was pneumonia.  

Stan was spirited away by unconsciousness once more, and Ford was left to his trepidation.  

 

 **This didn’t bode well.**  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Stan finally get to speak with each other, only for it to end up unsatisfactory as Stan is stricken with coughs. Who knows when Stan will wake up again and if they'll finally be able to reconcile? Hope you enjoyed this short chapter, even though it's probably going to be the weakest chapter in the story.


	5. Eye Spy With My Little Eye, A Vulnerable Fish In The Sea, Perhaps He Could Yet Still Be Of Use To Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OH SHIT BOI! IT'S AN UPDATE! BOOM--- I LIVE BITCHES!
> 
> In which things go to fucking shit for Stan and Ford, but sorta work out in the end of the chapter? I don't know.  
> Alas, everyone say hello, in this chapter:
> 
> Veviblmv dvoxlnv lfi oliw zmw nzhgvi uli zoo vgvimrgb, Yroo Xrksvi! 
> 
> Sv'h yzxp, zmw sv'h zoivzwb xzfhrmt tirvu gl ylgs Hgzm zmw Uliw ylgs.
> 
> Sv'h mlg ufxprmt zilfmw gsrh grnv vrgsvi.
> 
> Gsrh grnv sv'h mlg xfggrmt xlimvih.
> 
>  
> 
> “Little Fish, Little Fish-
> 
> What Is It That You Wish, That You Wish? 
> 
> Shake My Hand, Let Me In! 
> 
> I'll Guide Your Tail and Your Fin. 
> 
> Up The River of Ice-
> 
> To a Paradise, Come Now Little Fish, Little Fish - Don't Think Twice. 
> 
> In Memories Where The Pines Still Play.
> 
> On a Sunny Summer's Day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> _
> 
> OH SWEET FUCKING FLAMING ZODIAC SYMBOLS ON THE CIPHER WHEEL! THIS GOT INTENSE! MAJOR HELL BREAKS LOSE HERE!
> 
>  _  
> _

_A shimmer of gold flickered in_ _the_   _brine of gray as it drew his attention. Child Stan Pines was settled at the bottom of the sea atop the Stan O' War within his mindscape. In the darkness he swore he caught a glimpse of color, something he hadn't seen in his_   _mind for_   _a decade._

 

 _He tilted his head in child-like wonder and peered into the abyss and the abyss peered back in the guise of a single golden eye. It blinked at him and he blinked right back, he stared deeply into the eye never breaking his gaze away from it._  

 

 _"Well, well, well, well, well, well, well~" A sickly sweet melodic voice drifted out of the darkness, it seemed to originate from the eye. "Howdy_ _there,_   _Fez, Mackerel, Little Fish! Or_   _y'know_   _lemme_ _tell_ _ya_   _-_   _I'll call_ _ya_   _whichever you prefer!"_  

 

 _Stan didn't speak at first, he just continued to stare at the eye wondering who in blazes would be flitting around his hazy dreams without his permission. He didn't know why but a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that whoever this was, they weren't born from the inner workings of his imaginations._  

 

_No, this was something far beyond his comprehension and it was an intruder in his sacred space. His little hands curled into fists, his eyebrows scrunched and his expression morphed into a scowl._

 

 _"So..." He began, although his expression showed agitation for this intruder, his voice was calm and collective. His tone didn't match the displeasure upon his facial features._  

 

 _This elicited a merry chuckle from the eye. "So?" The eye echoed back, clearly amused at the child before it. It was expecting an answer, this much Stan knew._  

  

 _"So, what kind of eldritch horror are yah supposed_   _tah_ _be, yah one eyed punk? This is my place! What makes yah think yah can waltz in here like_   _you're_ _top dog and act like yah own it? This is my place, get out." The young boy demanded, his voice strong and steady, as he rose up and stood tall atop the half fallen apart Stan O' War. His fiery gaze never wavering from the eye._  

 

 _"_ _Ohhh_ ,  _feisty Little Fish!_ _Y'know_   _what kid I like ya! Ya got class!" The eye broke through the darkness and before Stan, floated a triangle adorned upon the triangle was a top hat and a bow tie. He drifted forwards and then ascended above Stan's head and turned upside down and gazed upon him. "Name's Bill Cipher! It's such a pleasure to meet_ _ya at long last,_ _Stanley Pines!"_  

 

_Stan froze in place, he tensed as he craned his head upwards to face the ridiculous being before him. He wondered for the briefest of moments how in blazes this being could possibly know his name, before he let out a crass fit of laughter._

 

_"You look like a cheap trinket sold in a tourist trap!" He_ _couldn't stop his roaring laughter, as he took a dive backwards off the boat. He floated gently down to the sand and stared up at the triangular being._

 

 _He whistled through the gap where his missing tooth once made its home. "_ _Mhnn_ _a tourist trap...that sounds like quite the idea wonder why I didn't think of doing_ _somethin_ _’ like it before?"_  

 

_Bill floated down until he was merely inches away from Stan's face, so close that Stan could if he so wished, punch him in the middle of his eye._

 

 _"Didn't anyone ever tell_ _ya_   _you shouldn't judge a triangle by their appearance?" His yellow body flickered from red and then back to gold in the blink of Stan's eyes._

 

 _"C'mon Little Fish- just hear me out! I'm here to help_ _ya_   _kid and make all your wildest dreams a reality!"_   

 

 _"Hah!" Stan huffed out in a mixture of a harsh chuckle and scoff, clearly not giving a damn what this_   _Cill_   _Bipher_ , _or whatever the hell his name was, had to say to him. "What could_   _yah_ _possibly know 'bout my dreams, yah scalene bastard?"_  

 

 _Suddenly color burst forth without warning, it bled and_   _mixed together in hues of tan, blue, orange, yellow, and finished off with a splash of white and a streak of wooden brown. Stan startled into a sit, and realized just what this was-when his gaze locked with himself and._   _.. Stanford._

 

 _Except it wasn't him and the Ford of the present day - they were children._  It was the memory of when he and his brother first made that promise to sail around the world together.   

 

       A promise that meant everything to Stan, but a promise that was empty on Ford's end. Did his twin ever intend to set sail with him at all in the first place, or had it all just been pretend to Stanford. Was that all their dream had ever been... just that...just a dream?

         

          A fantasy created by twins standing side by side and facing the world together, until the world became too tough for his twin to handle. As soon as the world knocked Stan Pines to his lowest, Ford had turned away and abandoned him.

 

      Ford took everything from Stan and left him with nothing. It was true that Ford had no control over their father's decision to kick him out, but Ford hadn't even put up any resistance.

 

       He didn't rebel against their father when Stan needed him the most. Ford had freed himself of their brotherly bonds over an accident; and Stan would have given anything in the entire cosmos to swim through the sands of time to undo it.

 

        Even if there was a chance they'd never sail around the world together, Stan would have gladly accepted it, it would have been a damn sweet blessing. He'd rather have Ford go to college, yet keep his love and support for him intact- than to be estranged as they were now.

 

        There was no escaping what he already knew, Ford had left him to die on the streets just like Pa. 

 

         But unlike Pa, Ford had loved him once, and now Stanley doubted he had even woken up prior to this to find himself wrapped up in a protective hold by Ford. How could he believe it to be true?

 

      How could he when he could no longer tell the distinction between reality and fantasy? Who was to say he hadn't been utterly delirious when he woke? Stanford had confirmed that he'd been stricken with a fever. 

 

      To put it bluntly, Stanford had turned his back on Stan and took that love with him- the brotherly love Stan was now resigned he'd never gain back. Stan blinked away tears that tried to sneak down his cheeks. No, he wouldn't show this bastard any signs of weakness- he wouldn't! Bill wasn't entitled to see the hidden sorrow Stanley had been burdened with.

 

 ** _"Hey, chin up, buddy. Look. One of these days, you and me are_  ** ** _gonna_  ** ** _sail away from this dumb town. We'll hunt for treasure, get all the girls, and be an unstoppable team of adventurers!"_  ** 

 

 ** _"You really mean it?"_  ** 

  

 ** _"High six?"_  ** 

  

 ** _"High six."_  ** 

 

 _The memory's colors flickered and then died like starved flames in a fire pit on a chilly winter's night. The colors washed away and retreated back into the void of gray; that consumed all that was_ _benevolent_   _and warm. The gray greedily_ _swallowed_   _up the colors and left nothing behind except for the golden being that still lingered even though it was obvious he wasn’t welcome. Damn, couldn’t this horror show take a hint?_  

 

 _"Oh_ , I  _know plenty!" The triangle didn't appear to have a mouth, but Stan swore to the briny deep that if Bill was to possess a mouth, he'd be smirking in a twisted and sickening triumphant way. Out of nowhere a cane appeared into his hand- with a poof of white wispy smoke that drifted upwards to the surface of the water._

 

_He twirled the cane in his petite hand while he crossed his legs, lying back as if he were merely floating on the surface of the water even if they were hundreds of miles below the surface._

 

 _"Seems to me ya got problems, and well Little Fish let me offer you a once in a lifetime deal! Not to worry bucko, there isn't a catch, well except for one little favor! But never you worry that puny little brain of yours, I can assure ya that no harm shall befall you or that brother of yours. Of which ya seem to hold so dearly to your heart of gold!"_  

 

_Stan was tensed up like a statue, as if he was in a museum on display for the judging eyes of the world to view and critique. The young child wanted nothing more than to shrink down and hide away in the opening gap of the Stan O' War._

 

 _He very much looked like he was a stray dog whom had been kicked, and was considering fleeing with its tail tucked underneath its legs._   _However,_   _the momentary lapse of lost bravado didn't last long and he squared back up._  

 

 _"Okay yah punk triangle, get_   _tah_   _yer_   _damn point already! What the hell are yah and why do yah_   _wanna_   _help me? I've been marching for ten damn years alone! I_ _nevah_   _needed no one no how- and I sure as hell don't need no one now! What deal could yah possibly offer me that I would even consider takin'? I know_   _yer_   _type! You're a con, just like me! I can spot one_ _miles_ _away, one look at_ _yer_ _ugly mug told me_ _everythin_ '  _I needed_ _tah_   _know!"_  

 

_Bill hummed to himself, as though he wasn't fazed in the slightest. He straightened himself back up so he could loom over Stanley._

 

 _"_ _So,_   _ya think you've got me all figured out, do you Little Fish?_   _Oh,_   _I'm stricken with anguish by your words! You've honestly and truly wounded me deep in the core of my soul, kid! C'mon I'm really only_   _lookin'_ _out for you and that_ _Brainiac_   _brother of yours! See, this little deal could benefit the both of you! You could finally sail around the world on that adventure of a lifetime you've yearned for, and well your brother could finally unlock the mysteries of the Universe! I'd say it's a win-win for the both of you!”_

 

 _Another laugh echoed through the desolate and dreary mindscape that was Stan’s_ _sanctuary,_ _though it wasn’t so much a sanctuary as it was a prison of Stan’s own morbid creation._  

 

 _The_ _triangle continued to speak, not allowing Stan to have a word in edgewise, he put his hand up making a 'tsk_   _tsk'_   _noise as Stan attempted to interject._

_“Think about it, for a decade he's been up here, avoiding you like the plague all for his research! But if ya helped him unlock the secret of your universe then he'd have no more reason to hang around. Ya understand exactly what I'm talking about, right? See you're smarter than your brother ever gave you credit for! C'mon kid, just take what I'm saying into consideration, I don't offer these things but once in a century! Tick-tock, Stanley, tick-tock!" His golden eye swirled into white and two clock hands replaced his iris. They_ _gradually_ _ticked clockwise around in his sphere._  

  

_Stanley bit his bottom lip as he listened to the tantalizing prospect of what Bill was offering him. Would Ford honestly come sailing around the world like they'd dreamed of if he had no more mysteries to uncover._

 

 _Would his curiosity be quenched at last, and would Stan finally be more important to him than his lame_   _mysteries?_ _It was something he had longed for ever since he'd been unceremoniously tossed out of the house by their father, to his father tossing Stanley out was easy, it was like tossing out garbage._

 

_The action was effortless, cold, and calculating- leaving Stan essentially for dead on the sidewalk of the Pines Pawn Shop. Stan was certain his father didn't suffer a wink of sleep, didn't harbor any spark of guilt or regret in that dark soul of his._

 

 _No one could convince Stan that his father didn't hate him, and no one could ever convince him that his father gave two shits about his_ _well-being._ _No one would ever change his view on his father, not when his dad isolated him into corners unseen and physically left him battered and bruised in a trembling sobbing mess upon the floor, whenever he crossed the thin lines of his patience._

 

_Even though his father hid his eyes from the world, Stan didn't need to make contact to know his father's icy glare of hate was reserved for him and him alone. He knew that the only warmth his father's eyes ever held was for his mother and for Stanford, they had made themselves useful._

 

 _Their mother making bank on her Phone Psychic scam, and Stanford had his bright mind to impress their father. Yes, his love was reserved for them and them alone...his father never loved him not even for a second. Stanford once mentioned that when you were a twin, one of you were unplanned. Stanley knew full well which twin_   _Filbrick_   _considered the mistake, the unplanned son that he never wanted._

 

 _Ever since that day that the door closed with a cold slam before him at the hands of his father- and then so did the_   _curtains,_ _of which his brother closed- he realized two things that miserable night._

 

 _Love wasn’t the vast i_ _nfinite_ _flood that fairy tales all claimed it to be, no he’d learned the harshest of truths. Two, love was fleeting and finite and you could lose it all within span of a few seconds. Stanley felt his stomach churning like rough waves in a stormy sea, his eyes finally averted away from Bill Cipher and he stared dismally at the ground._

 

 _The child steeled himself, not allowing his body to tremble as it desired, he wasn’t going to give this two-faced con the twisted_   _satisfaction_   _of seeing he got to him. He’d shaken the roots of this tree made of thick pine, yet never once in that decade of suffering_   _did_   _he ever let anyone see him crumble against the might of life’s winds._

 

 _He’d always played up a ruse and none of those he’d crossed paths with had been any the wiser. Though he’d bend, he would never break, even if he knew that there was no hope in earning Ford’s forgiveness or love. He wasn’t_   _gonna bow to his own demons in the abyss,_   _like hell he’d_ _bow for the likes of this one._  

 

 _Laughter, rough and brutal cackled through the air but it did not originate from Bill, it_ _originated_   _from Stan. He whipped his head back, hands clutching his stomach. “Are yah mad?! Ford don't want_ _anythin_  ' _tah_   _do with me! What makes yah think he’d want_ _tah_   _go anywhere with me after what I did? I ruined his future, betrayed his trust in me, yeah even if it was an accident it doesn’t change diddly-squat! I still_ _coulda_   _told ‘_   _im_ _but I didn’t! Now I’m_ _payin_ _for it, every single second of my short miserable life- and I’ll continue to pay for it_ _til_   _’ the day I'm found takin’ a dirt nap in some remote ditch! Though it_ _ain’t_   _like anyone would_ _evah_ _find me- until I was rotted into a mix of dust an' bones!”_  

 

 _Bill remained silent during his outburst, allowing him to spill his tirade and get the frenzied bitter tantrum out of his system. He could sense the spark of fuming_ _anger as_   _it ebbed into a low simmer, and in its_ _place, there_ _was the unmistakable ache deep in the core of his soul._

****

**_“Don’t you toy with me, Stan Pines! I see everything!”_** Bill's voice boomed like a clap of thunder, though the sound rampaged more or less through Stan's skull than outside of it.

 

 _Stan’s mouth snapped shut as he slipped up in his ruse, the_   _façade that had never failed him before now, finally faltered- his luck had just expired. For once in his entire ten years of facing the howling storm of life’s turmoil and abuse, the roots that held him grounded began to weaken as they struggled to remain intact._  

 

 _“Little Fish, Little Fish...~” Bill began to sing as he grew in size, to tower over Stanley’s petite figure._  

 

 _“_ W _hat Is It That You Wish, That You Wish?_

 _Shake_   _My Hand, Let Me In!_  

 _I'll Guide Your Tail and Your Fin._  

 _Up_   _The_   _River of Ice_  

 _To a Paradise, Come Now Little Fish, Little Fish - Don't Think Twice._  

 _In Memories Where_ _The_   _Pines Still Play_  

 _On A Sunny Summer's Day!”_  

 

 _Stan flinched back and stumbled towards the Stan O’ War. A sharp gasp rattled through him, his hands flew up to the left side of his chest, over his heart and he grasped at_ the  _fabric_ _of the red striped white shirt he wore._

 

 _The gray around him began to crack, and a dark red began to seep through and turn the gray water rose red. Flames from a phantom fire began to creep out from his soul, and spread all around his body like a network of spider webs, the unseen fire inside was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It was as hot as it was_ _frigidly_ _cold._  

 

 _It was all consuming and merciless, he felt faint and teetered in place. The red of the sea and the gold of Bill’s hue blended together into a terrifying_   _amalgamation. As did Bill’s image distort, so too did his voice, becoming deeper and even more so sinister._

 

 _For a few seconds Stan thought his ears picked up on the baritone demeanor of Stanford’s voice, but that couldn’t be...this was Bill singing to him, trying to fuck with his head. He wasn’t going to break, he promised himself he never would break. Never!_  

 

 _“NEVER!” Stan bellowed out as he stomped his left foot down into the sand, causing a flurry of wind to swirl around him displacing the red- allowing the gray of his mindscape to start crawling back through. Though the whirlwind did next to nothing against Bill, whom just kept his stare centered on him._  

 

 _Bill continued to mock him with his callous and_ _standoffish_   _singing._  

 

 _“Don’t you dare lie-_  

 _To the All-Seeing-All-Knowing Eye!_  

 _I know you better than you know yourself, you’re just like me!_  

 _Come on, open up your eyes don’t you see?_  

 _You’re nothing without me!_  

 _I can see into your past_  

 _And your future to if you continue down this path, I’m_ _telling you now the pain will forever last!_  

 _If you wish to be free, kid just listen to me, I’ll take it all away._  

 _So, what will it be,_   _what do you say?”_  

 

 _Blue fire encompassed Bill’s hand and he stretched it out towards Stanley, waiting patiently as he observed the agony coursing through Stan like the venom from the fangs of a_ _basilisk -a_   _mythical_  a _nd vicious serpentine creature that was naught a myth. Bill had_ _witnessed_   _these symptoms before, when Stanford had been so unlucky to be struck by the fangs of the_   _serpent while out in the_ _field_   _documenting his research._  

 

 _Ever the_ _studious_   _and naive fool that he was, he nearly succumbed to the kiss of death had it not been for Bill entering his body to nullify the venom. There was no doubt that Stanford would have perished under those_ _circumstances,_ _there was no_ _conceivable_   _way he’d make it to a hospital in time in his condition, not that it would have done him any favors either._  

 

 _He would have just been delaying the inevitable end tick of his eternal clock. There was no antidote the doctors_ _could have_ _whipped up that would have cured him of his ailment. T_ _hus,_   _it had been up to Bill to save his pathetic_   _élan_   _vital. Despite the_   _fact it_   _had only taken him seconds to dispel the venom, and heal the fang wounds- it was still such a damn chore to watch over the reckless sack of meat so he didn’t end up causing his own demise._

 

 _Th_ _ough, in hindsight it wouldn’t have mattered if Stanford died_ ,  _Bill could always eject him from the icy shroud of death, and restore the warmth of life into him with an effortless snap of his fingers_ _._

 

 _Fortunately_   _for Stanley he wasn’t bitten, just delirious with a_ _n_   _unforgiving fever, sick like a dog lying in the middle of the road- ready for the sweet embrace of death to release it from its torment._  

 

 _Stan retracted away from Bill, his entire body_ _overwhelmed_   _with tremors. The young child was now overcome with ragged and a_ _gonizing_   _bouts of coughs. He teetered one last time and landed_   _on his behind in the sand._

 

 _He painstakingly turned over, and dragged himself into the darkness of the small broken hull of the Stan ‘O War. He_ _concealed_   _his_ _vulnerable_   _form in the depths of murky shadow, at the very back of the hull._

 

 _He tried his best to curl up and block out the haunting melodies that Bill_   _produced_   _, he was like... what was it that Ford once said when they were children while reading a book of mythical beings?_

 

 _Wasn’t the creature a siren? Yes, a damn siren, that’s what this Bill Cipher fucker was. The deal he was proposing was hauntingly tantalizing but he would not take it. The_ _excruciating fire of embers and ice ate away at every skin cell, every muscle, every organ and every bone in his body._  

 

 _“Little Fish, Little Fish come out into my sight._  

 _You know deep down that I’m right!_  

 _Stop fighting against the tide!_  

 _Trust in me, just in me, I’m by your side!_  

 _Call me your pal, your buddy, your chum, your amigo- your friend!_  

 _Just shake my hand, I promise to be here for you now, until time’s destined end!”_  

 

_Bill hovered outside the entrance to the Stan O’ Wars hull, piercing through the darkness he could see Stanley curled into a pitiful heap, cowering. It was like peering into a mirror, seeing him curled up like that was just like seeing him crumpled in the corner before his father._

 

 _Man, was that guy_ _Filbrick_   _Elmer Pines a refined piece of work, Bill had to hand it to him._   _If_ _Bill wasn’t_   _such an_ _egotistical_   _maniac far removed from sanity, he might find more than just a_ _sliver_   _of admiration for_ _Filbrick_   _Pines._

 

 _His actions were such a delight to behold, as Bill peeked into Stan’s memories earlier before revealing himself to the conman._   _Filbrick’s_   _iron hold over Stanley even a decade later was a_   _statement of_ _true art._

 

 _It was a flawless_ _and_ _exquisite_ _blend_   _of ferocity and poise, it goes without saying that the World never trifled with_ _Filbrick_ ,  _unless it was_ _foolhardy_   _enough to try._ _Filbrick_   _was a monster, as was Bill, though_ _Filbrick_   _was only a monster with mortal strength at his beck and call. He_ _hadn’t the immortal power Bill contained, that had_   _nurtured_ _him since he arose into existence- from_ _the dark fissure of fire_   _and ash._

 

_If the man had been a demon, Bill was certain they’d get along just swimmingly. They’d be partners in crime and in time, they would certainly have accomplished great feats of torture beyond the likes of which mortals had ever witnessed._

 

 _They’d be the undisputed Gods of the Universe, well that is until Bill grew_ _discontented_ _with F_ _ilbrick_ _and eventually revoked him of his immortality- and stabbed him in the_ _front._

 

 _P_ _roving that their friendshi_ _p was_ _authentic._ _For only_   _the most_ _legitimate_   _friends stabbed you where you could see their face._ _So,_   _they could watch in sheer delight as the essence of life_   _faded_ _from your irises._  

 

 

 _“You’re fading fast..._  

 _You won’t hold out forever- you can’t out-swim your past._  

 _You’re fated to seek comfort in the iris of my eye._  

 _Unless you wish to_ _burn out and die._  

 _Make the deal with me, Little Fish, Little Fish._  

 _Allow me to grant what You Wish, What You Wish._  

 _I shall spare you of this endless misery._  

 _Or through the water, ice and fire you shall expire, my dear twin Stanley.”_  

 

 

_Bill’s voice morphed into a hideous mockery of Stanford’s voice. And this is what caused Stan’s mindscape to rock violently as the red was ejected from the surrounding area._

 

 _The steely gray began to push the red back, and it began to wear down on Bill as well. The waves above them rolled and tumbled, as Stan’s eyes snapped open and his gaze locked with Bill’s._  

 

 _There was a crazed- almost feral gleam in Stan’s eyes, his entire small figure heaving with every struggled gasp of air he attempted to take. A low hiss of warning pushed itself out of his vocal cords and past his open jaw._  

 

 ** _“GET THE FUCK OUT!”_  ** 

 

 _His voice_ _erupted_   _in his throat like a guttural howl of an injured wolf, whom had been unlucky enough to be_ _seized_   _by a_ _hunter‘_   _s trap. The hunter in this case would be Bill Cipher, and damn everything to Hell and back._ _Stan Pines may be backed into a corner, and he might have the form of a young child- but he was still the hardened man that was molded by the world to survive._

 

 _So,_   _survive he shall, even if he had to do it by the damn skin of his teeth. He’d done it once before when he ate his way out of the trunk of a car, and he’d do it again. As many times as it fucking took, Stan would fight until his very last breath and then perhaps he’d cheat death and come back to kick its ass as an undead warrior. Who knows, he had a lot on his bucket list of things to do before he ever kicked the bucket. He’d probably have to jot that down at the end of his list._  

 

_His mindscape began to fall apart as the sea collapsed in on itself, the water surged down all around the Stan O’ War but never once did any water soak him. And then he blinked and the red, gray and gold was spirited away and he was left in a dark foreboding silence._

 

 _Was this a place where he was isolated and cut_ _off from Bill? Perhaps this was the one place he could be free of the intruding bastard. Just who the fuck did he think he way anyways?_  

 

 _There was no way he’d make a deal with that_   _conniving_ _demon, he wasn’t masochistic enough to add yet another demon to his vast collection. No thank you, no way, no how, see you later and fuck the hell right_ _off - with_ _a_ _one-way_ _admission to fuck_ _that Ville._

 

 _Also,_   _please by all means die in a fire, no wait, not even please **just fucking die.**_  

 

 _Stan trembled as he allowed his rigid_ _body to unwind, yet even still he kept his guard up just in case Bill followed him into the abyss. He felt around in the gloom, to realize he was still tucked underneath the Stan O’ War...it brought a small amount of respite but not much._

 

 _At least something out there still gave a damn about his safety, even if it was just a boat. In_ _defiance of all odds, even though she was just a rickety wooden vessel that wasn’t even seaworthy- she still_ _protected_   _Stan in his hour of need._

 

 _And Stan saw the worth in her, where someone else a boat beyond repair, Stan saw a pearl with_   _limitless_   _potential. All she needed was tender love and care, and she would shine like a thousand shooting stars across eventide._  

 

_Stan supposed, he was just like the Stan O' War in a way. He too was something broken, and he wasn’t certain if he was beyond repair or not. But maybe if someone looked at him in the way he looked at his childhood dream, then maybe Stan could shine just like her._

 

 _He wanted to shine more than anything, he wanted to burn so bright that his father would be on his damned knees begging for him to come back home. But he wouldn’t, he would never go back. Instead Stan knew that he would laugh ruthlessly in his father’s face and he would walk away forever out his life._  

 

 _As for Stanford...well he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He’d have to  first brawl his way through his fever and emerge from his stupor- before he ever considered what he’d even do about his relationship with his brother, or lack_ _thereof_  a _s it was so seemingly the case. As the soothing sounds of the sea lulled him, he rested his temple against the wood wall of the Stan ‘o War. He was about to let his eyes close when he felt something warm and_   _slimy_   _trickle out of his eyes._  

 

**_What the actual fuck?_   **

 

 _He wiped at the liquid and it was thick and_ _unpleasant_   _to the touch. And if you knew a child well enough, you’d know that their first instinct was to put anything they could find of interest into their mouth to learn about its nature._  

 

 _So, true to a child’s quirky nature he did just that._   _ **I** **nstant regret,**  he doubled forward and retched _ _violently_ _as the metallic taste of blood_ _assaulted_   _his taste buds. They were beyond insulted with Stan’s choice and they were not holding back in showing their displeasure for his poorly planned action._

 

 _But he wouldn’t be Stan Pines if every action he took wasn’t harebrained, that was him that was Stanley Pines._ _A reckless fool, living his life on the edge, always fighting through some sort of misfortune._

 

 _Ah well, he could roll with the punches- he'd been doing it for ten years, what’s another few years?_ _Certainly,_ _he could handle it, that’s what he’d always done and probably would be doing for the rest of his days. He knew full well that Stanford would send him on his merry way once he recovered._

 

 _He didn’t even try and dismiss this thought from his head, Stanford hated him...._  

 

_Stanford despised him. Stanford loathed him. Stanford wanted nothing to do with him._

 

 _The ten years apart had only_ _solidified_  t _he fact that Stanford wouldn’t even miss him if he died. Now_ _that he thought about it, he could have died in those ten years and Stanford would have never even realized it. The very thought of this sent Stan into a spiral of hysterical laughs and sobs as he curled in on himself._

 

         _That was the moment in which he heard the spine-chilling song Bill had attempted to serenade with him with, to try and entice him with as though he was and unsuspecting fish being drawn in by the luminescent orb of a deep sea Anglerfish._

 

_But, here’s the oh so wonderful kicker, ah yes adding insult to his already throbbing wounds- Bill's voice had shifted into a much more natural sounding pitch of Stanford’s voice. Though there was still that eerie reverb laced through it, it still sounded too much like Stanford for Stanley to ignore any longer._

 

_He screamed...he screamed so intensely he thought his lungs would explode- under the immense strained pressure he was forcing them to endure._

_**“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”**   _

 

_His inhuman wails drifted through the hollow darkness and flowed throughout every last nook and cranny of his mind. The wood of the Stan O’ War shrieked in wild and unrestrained protest as the wood began to splinter and snap off, cracks forming in her hull._

 

_Stan’s wails only increased in volume, he curled up as much as he could, trying to seek out any other form of protection in case the ol’ girl was on her last anchor. Perhaps he could bury himself in the sand?_

 

_Heh, wouldn’t that just be the most ironic and morbid, yet fitting way for him to suffocate and go out? At least he’d be going out on his own terms and not being taken down by Bill or by this damned fever._

 

_Yes, the idea of suffocating never sounded more appealing to him in his entire life._

 

_He could just let go and there’d be nothing left to harm him ever again. No one needed Stan Pines the crooked grifter, no one would miss him. No one would mourn him, well perhaps his mother and perhaps Sherman- but he wouldn’t be around to feel guilty about the heartbreak he’d be causing them._

_Call him selfish all you want, he’d been through enough pain in the last decade to last him thirty lifetimes over and then some._

 

 _The siren call of Bill approached ever closer and closer, Stan’s heart pounded so loudly- he was certain Bill could hear it. Closer and closer the haunting melody drifted...so close that Stan believed that Bill was just outside the entrance of the Stan O’ War._  
  


_“NO! NO! NO! NO! PLEASE! LEAVE ME ALONE! JUST LET ME--- LET ME---” Let him what? He didn’t know? Let him be in peace? Let him fade into a blissful comatose? Or was it...die? Did he really wish to die? Or...what? He didn’t know, oh Moses he didn’t know. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’'t----_  


_“M SORRY STANFORD! 'M SORRY!” He didn’t know why he allowed his brother’s name passage into the darkness. Perhaps it was because his guilt was eating him up like sharks shredding apart the carcass of a massive whale, bloated with all its regrets and unfulfilled dreams._

 

_Did whales even dream? Like hell if Stan knew, it was just a piss poor comparison of his situation regarding Bill. Bill was the sharks, and he was the whale about to be made into fine rolls of sushi._

 

_Contrary to what many would believe, for how much Stan admired and doted upon the idea of sailing around the world- Stan despised sushi! No matter how often he’d attempt to stomach it, he’d end up violently ill. To the point that he was certain he needed a trip to the emergency room._

 

_Yet no matter how sparingly this would occur, Filbrick wouldn’t waste money on hospital bills for Stan. So, Stan suffered in silence, spilling his guts out into the toilet until his heaves produced nothing but hot puffs of air._

 

_Ford would always be there with him, telling him how much of an ignoramus he was. Yet there’d be no malice or ill intent in his tone of voice. It was nothing but a light jab, playful mutual teasing between the two of them. Endearing in its own weird way, how fondly did he look back upon those times. Where it was just him and Stanford, both of them back to back as they fought battles for each other._

 

_Nothing ever brought them down...until.... West Coast Tech._

 

_What a fool was he, awaiting his end, thinking about all the nonsensical little moments that probably didn’t even matter to anyone but himself. He knew that none of it mattered to Ford...none of it mattered at all. Stan couldn’t explain why he was still lingering, why he still stayed, why he still loved his brother._

 

_Why? Why? Why? Why did he still love him? What horrible deed did he do in a past life to deserve such a curse placed upon him. Why did he have to have the most colossal heart in the entire Universe?_

 

_He thought he’d learned his lesson when he decided a week before Ford’s postcard came, that he was going to bury their brotherly bonds indefinitely. He thought he’d learned that love was fleeting and finite and it could be retracted, his father and his brother taught him that._

 

 _They were the same in those regards, both of them as ice cold as the other, leaving Stanley to whatever the world wished to inflict upon him. Why...? Why...? Why...?_  
  
  
_“S-Stanford.” He could no longer cry out, instead his voice struggled and strained to leave his vocals._ _And then he felt a prick of pressure upon his chest---_

 

_Then something else sounded off, it was far away and distorted but it wasn't like Bill's distortion. The sound was muffled, as if he were hearing it while he was drowning._

 

_"th...amn...t...ley! 're..ot....a..ed...o...ie...ou...ard....re...ot...ot...an't...I..an't...I...st....ot...ou...ck....I...an't...ose...ou...ain....ease..ease...eath!"_

 

_The voice echoed through the darkness, becoming more and more frantic each time. He felt more and more pressure on his chest, the constant pressure and then the short pressure that eased up for a few moments, before it came back down._

 

_The voice finally broke the surface of tension, and he heard it as clear as a seagull's shrill cry---_

 

_**"BREATHE DAMN IT, LEY! YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO DIE, YOU BASTARD! YOU'RE N-NOT...NOT! I CAN'T....I JUST GOT YOU BACK! I CAN'T LOSE YOU AGAIN! PLEASE! PLEASE BREATHE!"** _

 

_If Stan Pines could roll his eyes at Ford right now, he'd roll them so hard they'd pop right out of his skull, they'd land on the floor and they'd roll like marbles across the wood and vanish underneath some forsaken shelf -never to be found again. Lost forever to the dark, just as he would soon be. What the hell, was with Poindexter? Couldn't he just allow him to do something worthwhile-for once in his life?_

 

_Like oh, he didn't know, maybe **die in fucking peace**? But then again this was Stanford he was referring to, of course he wasn't going to just let him die. Obviously Ford still had some use for him...otherwise he wouldn't be wasting his time. Stan had nothing left to offer Ford, didn't he understand that? Couldn't he grasp a concept as simple as that? For someone with a big brain, Ford could be a damn fucking idiot, even more so than Stanley himself. _

 

_He felt the sand underneath him begin to swallow him up, he was going out on his terms. Not Bill's, not Ford's, not his fever's and not the damn world that had never loved Stan like Stan loved the world. It was his choice to die, and damn it he was going to do it right._

_Fuck Bill, fuck the world, fuck his dad, fuck this, fuck that and fuck whatever the Hell else._

 

_And most importantly of all..._

**_Fuck Stanford._ **

 

 

 _Who was he to tell him that he could or could not die? He had no fucking right, none at all. And then, he could breathe._  

 

_The darkness around him flickered with a white flash of light, then faded into a shade even darker than the gloom earlier. How was that even possible? He didn’t know, nor did he care._

 

 _All he knew was that he was exhausted, irritated, and he wanted to fucking sleep._   _Fine, he wouldn’t fucking die today, geez. Just let him be!_   _He heard a crack that was made from a punch coming into direct contact with something solid. T_ _hen he was suddenly all too aware that the knuckles upon his left hand in the physical world ached._  

 

**_Huh, how 'bout that?_ **

 

**_-_ **

**_-_ **

**_-_ **

**_-_ **

**_-_ **

**_-_ **

 

      It had started out as a low whimper, it had roused Stanford from his light sleep. He had gazed down at Stanley, wondering if he was attempting to wake up. Hope swelled within his chest as he waited... and waited....and waited.

 

      But nothing...nothing at all except for Stan’s body giving slight trembles here and there. Then it escalated in the blink of his eyes, he was taken aback by the sudden plunge in Stan’s overall condition. Despite the fever he’d been doing fine thus far, so Ford couldn’t understand why Stan was shaking violently.  

 

      Then chills crawled up his spine as laughter, cruel and bitter escaped Stan- only for it to switch gears faster than a surge of electricity. From a cruel laugh, it pandered off into something hysterical. A mix of sobs and laughter and it almost reminded him of--- no! He couldn’t think of HIM. 

 

      He had to focus on a way to soothe his brother, whom was having another night terror by the sounds of it. Or so that’s what he concluded when he heard Stan’s feral cries, and his pleas to be left alone. But then all at once everything came to its breaking point, Ford had tried his best to console Stan. Yet he didn’t know how to properly do so, he’d never done anything quite like this in his entire life. 

 

      “I-I’m here Stan! I’m here! It’s okay! Ju-just breathe!” He tried to coax Stan back into a state of somewhat peace, but it obviously wasn’t working. He didn’t understand what he was doing wrong, fuck he was so bad at trying to be the brother Stanley needed right now.

 

      As he continued in a futile attempt to console Stanley, he didn’t realize at first the muted sounds of suffocation that began deep within Stan’s throat. Not until Stan sobbed out strained apologies and then choked out his name. It was only then that Ford registered with a jolt that Stan wasn’t breathing, and he was dying in his arms. Ford initially allowed panic to take hold of him. He couldn’t lose his brother, not now, damn it! NOT NOW!  

 

     After his short episode of panic, that felt like an eternity, when in reality it was only a few seconds- he allowed his brain to kick into overdrive. 

 

    Chest compressions.... that's what he had to do.

 

    1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

 

    Rinse and repeat.

 

    1, 2, 3, 4, 5.....rinse and repeat....rinse and repeat. Over and over and over, again and again and again. He wouldn’t stop until Stan was breathing again, he couldn’t stop.  

 

 ****_"BREATHE DAMN IT, LEY! YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO DIE, YOU BASTARD! YOU'RE N-NOT...NOT! I CAN'T....I JUST GOT YOU BACK! I CAN'T LOSE YOU AGAIN! PLEASE! PLEASE BREATHE!"_   _He managed to choke out through his emotions that were going haywire._  

 

  This was his fault, all of this. Stan wasn’t breathing and it was his fault. Stan was like this because he’d left him behind.  Stan was...Stan was... 

 

**Unresponsive.**

      His heart sank, but only for a moment until the most beautiful sound he ever heard in his entire life echoed gently through the wooden shack. Stanley had finally taken in a breath of sweet, sweet oxygen. 

 

       As he studied his brother’s face, Stan’s eyes flickered open rather rapidly. Ford hardly caught a glimpse of brown and gold...wait...gold---?

 

       No...that can’t be...no it wasn’t right? Ford couldn’t confirm for Stan’s eyes shut just as swiftly as they opened. Besides he hadn’t gotten an ample amount of time to study Stan’s eyes. His paranoid mind must be playing tricks on him.

 

    Must be... 

 

       “St-Stanley are you al---” 

 

        And that’s when he was socked in the nose. A sharp yelp echoed after the sounds of Stan’s shallow breathing. Ford cradled his nose, it wasn’t broken, nor was it bleeding- fortunately. Damn, did Stan have a mean left hook.

 

        He'd always watched his brother giving left hooks to his opponents in boxing lessons during their childhood. Never once had he been on the receiving end of Stan's left hook, he'd always wondered what it felt like. And now he wished he didn't, because sweet stars in the sky did it fucking smart.

 

      Ford winced and rubbed his nose, letting out a low groan. 

 

     “Yeah...I..I probably deserved that.” He muttered, before he resumed his protective vigil over his brother. 

 

      "Just so we're clear, if you stop breathing again, you knucklehead I’m going to resuscitate you, kill you myself and then bring you back again. So...” He placed his hand atop Stan’s head, and ruffled his six fingers through Stan’s unkempt mullet. 

 

 **“DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!”**  

 

          In turn he got a low mutter which was nothing more than a mumble of gibberish, though Ford had a feeling Stan was telling him to fuck off. And it would have been slightly more humorous if Stanley hadn’t almost given him a damn heart attack. In fact, he still could have one, and it would be Stanley’s fault. Though perhaps that wouldn’t be so terrible.  

 

 _“_ _Wherever_ _we go, we go together.”_ He could hear his brother’s voice from their youth, reaching across a decade's sea of time, yes that’s right. If Ford died of a heart attack- and Stan just stopped breathing, at least they’d go together. 

 

     In retrospect it was rather contrived, but the idea of dying of a heart attack never sounded more appealing to Ford.

 

-

-

-

-

 

_**"Little Fish, Little Fish** _

_**Don't you swim no more against the current, or face the tidal flow.** _

_**Or else you'll be swept unto the undertow!** _

_**You've only got so long, you know... you know... you know~"** _

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH FUCK!!!
> 
> IT'S THE BASTARD! 
> 
> WE BEEN KNEW GUYS! DID YOU EXPECT THIS?! DID YOU! TELL ME IF YOU DID! I BET YOU DIDN'T! I TOLD YOU! I WARNED YOU! THINGS WERE GONNA GO FROM BAD TO WORSE! 
> 
> BUT NO ONE EVER LISTENS TO ME! WHY DIDN'T YOU LISTEN! WHY?! NOW YOU'RE GONNA SUFFER- AND YOU ONLY HAVE YOURSELVES TO BLAME! 
> 
> WHY DIDN'T YOU LISTEN!? YOU NAIVE FOOLS, YOU ABSOLUTE KNUCKLEHEADS! YOU SHOULD HAVE ABANDONED SHIP WHILE YOU HAD THE CHANCE NOW IT'S TOO LATE!!!! THE SEA IS MADE OF FIRE AND ICE! THERE'S NO ESCAPE FOR YOU!
> 
> NO ESCAPE!!!
> 
> YOU LEAVE THE POOR BOYS ALONE CIPHER! YOU NOODLE ARM AND LEGGED BASTARD! FUCK OFF AND LIVE AND BE WELL FAR AWAY FROM THE PRECIOUS SUMMER BOYS! 
> 
> God damn triangle never fucking listens.
> 
> Shit.
> 
> Looks like we gotta deal with his Billfuckery from here on out. Sorry guys, I don't make the rules.
> 
> Bill does what Bill wants.
> 
> This is the longest chapter I've ever written in my entire fucking life for any written work I've done ever. I wanted to make up for the very short chapter last time. I hope I successfully achieved my goal~
> 
> (( Axolotl is gonna smite my sorry ass. ))


End file.
